


It Is Unwelcome

by telepathy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Endings, Explicit Language, Feels, Gen, Sad, Season Finale, Season/Series 09, Spoilers, Supernatural - Freeform, Winchesters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 02:13:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1670957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telepathy/pseuds/telepathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOILERS ....I repeat...SPOILERS to the season 9 finale!! </p><p>Dean wakes up and begins to experience what's happened to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Is Unwelcome

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not read this if you haven't seen the finale. I say this again: PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED THE FINALE. 
> 
> Okay, so that's basically the most important thing you needed to know about this little fic. 
> 
> Oh, I listened to "Radars Over the Ghosts of Chernobyl" by Lights Out Asia while writing this. I suggest a listen.

Knowing what's coming and actually living long enough to see it happen are two vastly different things. 

There were two endings, and an unforeseen beginning. 

Two lives were destroyed in that bunker. 

Here now. Two onyx, demonic eyes glare back at me, caught, ensnared for eternity within the frame of this motel mirror. These foreign orbs are fevered already with war; there's rippling black liquid that moves like stormy ocean waves move: unbidden, relentless despite the damage they will cause. 

I shut and hide the ugliness away. I feel upset but there are too many reasons as to why that might be. It will take time to decipher this mess. 

I can't keep them sealed forever though. Which is a defeat in and of itself. 

The reflection of an eternal midnight is in sight again and I know the future is limited to what I choose to do next. As I see it, there are two paths lying endlessly ahead of me and I need to make things right. 

I ease down onto my calves and contemplate the situation; my limbs vibrate with all the fear of Hell filling them. 

_They_ come to mind. The ones I've gone from. 

One Angel wracked with dying Grace. 

One King full of fire and fury that hovers above and below. 

One Brother. One Brother who-- 

"Ah Dean, these dark thoughts, they're a bit, well, macabre don't you think? I need my newest minion to be in better mental shape than that." 

Crowley is barking at me from somewhere else. His corporeal form is masked within the shadows of our outdated rental. I think of how I don't care where that fucking bastard is, never did. Yet my body wills me to care, no, rather it _obeys_ every syllable by searching for the owner of those words. 

I've been reduced to a puppet. A cog in the devil's grinding wheel, a spiral that will never stop rolling over itself. 

I will be stripped down, rid of all the beliefs that once stood between what I am now and what we sought to destroy. It is inevitable, what is to be, what's yet to come; my bones will bleach in the crimson pool of humanity's blood, my heart will turn to stone, my flesh will not feel. 

The shell has ceased. The heart doesn't beat any longer. The breath I steal isn't filling burned out, longing lungs. It just is. 

All of these facts just ...are. 

It, all of it, the truths, the unavoidable futures, all of it is unwelcome.


End file.
